No Regrets
— And I expect this flat to be spotless when I get back! — Mrs. Helen Brown stormed onto the landing, slamming her door with such force that the windows in the stairwell rattled.
I was making my way down the stairs at that very moment, and the noise startled me. I hoped Mrs. Brown wouldnt see me, but, of course, no such luck.
— Ah, good morning, Natalie! — she called out, pretending to be cheerful as she placed a battered cardboard box on the floor and fiddled desperately with the last button on her coat. She was clearly in a rush.
— Good morning, Mrs. Brown, — I replied with a polite smile. — Have the kids been up to mischief again?
— Thats putting it mildly, — she muttered, wrestling the stubborn button.
The box on the floor shifted and made a quiet rustling noise.
I nearly jumped, although I was in no real danger.
Now, Ive never been one to scare easy. Still, the thought that somethingsomeonemight be moving in a cardboard box, well, it gives you pause.
My imagination supplied the image of a misbehaving slow cooker escaped from the kitchen, condemned to the bin due to its habit of spitting out half-cooked veg.
— Here, have a look, — Mrs. Brown said, lifting the box as if to settle the matter once and for all.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped forward to peek inside.
Of course, the rational part of my mind told me thered be no animated slow cooker, but what I saw still came as a complete surprisea pleasant one.
At the bottom of the box, a pair of bright eyes looked up at me. They belonged to a tiny kitten.
— Oh, isnt he adorable! — I gasped.
— Honestly, dont encourage it, — Mrs. Brown grumbled, snapping the lid shut.
— Where did you get him?
— The children dragged him in one day. Wish Id never let them keep him to begin with. More trouble than hes worth. Dont let those sweet eyes and that cute face fool you. As the saying goes, All that glitters is not gold. Looks an angel, acts like my ex-husband.
— Hell grow out of it, Mrs. Brown. Are you off to the vet, for his jabs?
— Vet? No chance. I cant stand another day of this kittens antics. Im taking him to the cottagelet him fend for himself out there.
I stared at her in disbelief. This was no joke; her furrowed brow and sharp tone told me she meant every word. It was the 15th of Novembernot exactly kitten season.
— To the cottage? In late autumn?
— As if it makes any difference! Were it winter, hed go anyway. Hes not a kitten; hes a bloody nuisance.
She paused, breath heavy with exasperation.
Then, gathering herself, Mrs. Brown added,
— You should see what this little horror gets up to. Ive not touched so much chamomile since those months alone with two toddlers. My minds made up, and thats thatoff to the cottage with him!
— But
— I could just leave him out in the yard, where we found him. But the children would smuggle him straight back in, likely stow him in a cupboard. Im not having that againnever!
Checking her phone for the time, Mrs. Brown shook her head.
— Youve made me late rambling on, Natalie. Got to dashLord forbid I miss my bus.
She gripped the box firmly, swung round and started downstairs, holding fast to the banister.
I watched her go, not understanding how anyone could dump a tiny kitten at a remote cottage to fend for itself. Hed never last.
— Wait, Mrs. Brown! — I called after her.
— What now? I said, Im in a hurry!
— Dont take him to the cottage. Let me find him a new home. Please, leave him with me.
She stopped and slowly turned.
— New home, is it? Are you suggesting my hands arent good enough? — she narrowed her eyes. — I raised two children with these hands, you know.
— Of course not. I just want to help the little one. He wont survive on his own.
— If he cant manage, then its not meant to be, — she said flatly.
— Thats not fair.
— Its not my fault, — she snapped. — Hes not cut out for life with people.
— Hes just a baby, Mrs. Brown! Hell learn. You dont send your kids to the cottage, though you spend all day yelling at them.
— My children are my children; dont compare them to this creature! — she shot back. — But fine, if youre so keenhes yours.
She dropped the box at my feet.
— Suits meI wont have to travel or spend money on the fare. Lets see how long you manage! — she smirked, then turned and slammed her front door. I heard her yelling,
— I dont believe it! Why havent you started cleaning? Hand over those phones!
I picked up the box, checked that the kitten was still inside, and headed upstairs.
And just like that, I became the proud new owner of a slow-cooker boxand the small kitten within.
I hadnt intended on a lodger today. I was only popping out for coffee after discovering Id run out. How quickly fortunes can change.
Ill admit, Ive never been especially fond of animals. I havent a doting bone in my body for pets. But I couldnt let Mrs. Brown abandon the poor thing.
Apathy isnt the same as cruelty. Theres always another optiona loving homeif you put in some effort.
Surely, with some nice photos and an internet post or two, I could find this beautiful little thing someone to love him. I didnt doubt it for a second.
*****
Wasting no time, I took a few pictures as soon as I got home and put up posts on every Pets Free to Good Home and Adopt a Pet forum I could find.
Afterwards, I popped out again, buying both ground coffee and a packet of kitten food (I couldnt let him go hungry). I threw in a plastic litter tray and a bag of litter, toounexpected expenses, but necessary.
Ill just give it all to whoever adopts him, I thought, smiling at the idea that I was doing something good. Money well spent.
Apparently, Mrs. Brown had called him Muffin, but he didnt answer to it, so I picked another name.
The 132nd option on my mental list struck a note.
— Right, youll be Basil then. How does that sound? — I asked.
— Mew! — Basil replied, taking off for the hallway to attack my slippersa pair every bit as fluffy as he was, which seemed to offend his sense of supremacy. Clearly, he intended to establish himself as the top fluff.
I couldnt help grinning as I watched Basil chase his own tail among my shoes before I settled down to work.
You see, Im a freelance photographer, always busy with shoots and clients. I love my job, and it pays decently.
That day I was supposed to edit photos from a recent session and so, headphones on, I opened Photoshop and set to retouching.
Work was impossible, though. After finishing his battle with my slippers, Basil took to zooming madly from room to room, never quite taking the corners cleanly and making more noise than an entire rugby squad.
— Oi, you! — I spun round, trying to be stern.
He paused, eyes fixed on minewhat is it, say your piece already, Ive got playing to do.
— I get that youre bored, but remember, youre only here until we find you a home…
— Mew!
— Dont argueguests should mind their manners. Let me work, please.
Wrong thing to say.
He looked so wounded that I felt ashamed, properly ashamed, to the point I wished I could vanish through the floor.
How can you scold something so tiny? I thought.
— Fine, play as much as you like, just be a bit quieter…
He chirped and promptly resumed his mad dash, pinging off furniture, doors, and my legs as he went.
Single-mindedthats Basil, alright, I thought, sticking my headphones back on.
Within minutes, Basil, careening at full tilt, crashed right under the desk and managed to paw out the computers power cable with a flourish, vanishing before I could even begin to scold.
— Oh, for heavens sake — I whispered at the blank screen.
For the next half-hour, it wasnt just Basil dashing around the flatI was in hot pursuit, trying to catch him. No luck, of course. All I managed was to stub my toe and whack my knee twice on the chair.
When I finally got my PC running, blinking away a headache, I checked all those online forums for responses to Basils photos.
Lots of likes, but as I read through the comments, my heart sank.
Wow, what a cutie! Youre so lucky to have him! Adorable! Praise everywhere, but not a single person offering to take him.
No one called, no one messaged privately, and certainly, there was no eager queue at my door. A third check was pointless.
I updated each post, offering to deliver Basil anywhereeven across the city, even to the ends of the earth.
Maybe its the hassle of getting here, I reasoned, now someone is bound to reply.
Meanwhile, Basil wore himself out, managed on his fifth attempt to leap onto the sofa, and struck a love me as I am pose, belly up for admiration. I had to sit beside him and rub his furry tummy endlessly until he nodded off.
Before I knew it, Id dozed beside him. So much for work that day.
*****
A week passed before I realised that finding Basil a home was not quite as simple as Id imagined. People liked, and commented, but nothing changed. No calls, no private messages.
Three days later, I began to wonder, What if nobody ever comes for Basil? Would I really keep him?
— Just what I need, — I muttered, then immediately scolded myself.
Basil, curled around my computer mouse, cracked open one eye and mewed in indignation. Some peace and quiet, please!
Sighing, I checked my phone for new comments on my posts.
It was the same storymore admiration for Basil, more blessings hurled my way, but not one meaningful offer to adopt him.
With each new like and comment, my hope of finding Basil a home dwindled.
I was reminded of a recent chat with a therapista bid to pinpoint what was missing from my life.
Work was fulfilling, money was fine, the flat was my own (thanks to a bit of help from Mum and Dad). By all rights, I ought to be content.
Yet lately, something had felt off. Not romanceId put my love life on hold purposely.
So what was it?
The therapist suggested talking to myself to dig down and figure it out. It all ended with a glass of water and a headache tablet. Nothing solved, nothing gained.
I tried discussing it with friends.
— Honestly, you dont know youre born! — said Alison, quietly envious of my job and home.
— What, just because I work all hours? — I argued.
— Maybe you need HIM, — mused Maria between mouthfuls of pudding.
— Need what?
— Not who, what! Youre too skinny for your own good. The world needs more cake in it!
The chat provided no insights. I swore off navel-gazing, though as I sat with Basil, the thought niggled at the back of my mind.
Maybe what Im missing is this little troublemaker?
*****
A month flashed by since Basil moved in. No one came for him; out of 1,228 likes, not one translated to a real home. But now, I think I understand why.
So much happened in that single month that to describe it in detail would fill volumes. Ill stick to the highlights.
Basil turned out to be an incredibly bright kitten, understanding me by the tone of my voice aloneespecially when told, for the tenth time, to leave the sofa be.
He tried new careers as wellstarting with interior design, which led to me swapping out four sets of curtains before giving up on them altogether.
After that, he sampled cuisine as my Head Chef, tasting anything on the kitchen table before spitting it outpickled onions, mushrooms, cold spuds, none of it took his fancy. Better to stick with proper kitten food.
In the end, like every other cat, Basil settled on his real role in life: to bring me joy.
Our ideas of joy didnt always match. I thought of rest and finishing projects. Basil thought of play, mischief, and more play.
Before Basil, my life was quiet, almost too quiet. Perhaps the universe had sent him to stir things up.
Any chance I sat down, Basil would materialise, lock his gorgeous eyes on mine, and all but beg, Will you play?
The chaos he causedthere are no words.
Now, I understood Mrs. Browns exasperation, but Id never have gone as far as leaving the kitten at a freezing cottage. No, exhaustion aside, I could never do that.
But there were bright sides. I stopped wondering what empty space I needed to fill in my lifethe question vanished.
I got quicker at cleaning the flat, if only by necessity, dashing to tidy before Basil woke up and made another mess.
And the pure happiness Like a parent watching a childs first steps, I cheered the day Basil finally used his litter tray unprompted. No more midnight missions to carry himglorious progress! No one saw it, but I honestly wept with relief for those extra hours sleep.
He picked up other habitsplaying with the night light at all hours, flicking it on and off. In the end, I had to take it down and stash it with the curtains.
You can get used to anything, I suppose, and I certainly was: to pads on the keyboard, to losing my slippers, to toys underfoot.
And after a month, I realised something astonishing. It wasnt that Basil lived with memore that I was the guest in his home. I spent all day out working while he ruled the roost.
Hed always meet me at the door, take leave of me in the morning. The real master here was definitely Basil.
I finally understood: there was no sense in searching for good hands for him, for my own hands were kind and ready to take on the job.
Im willing to wake up whenever, to play, to cuddlewhatever he wants, whenever he wants. He spawns chaos and steals the pillow, but I wouldnt trade him for the world.
And I dont regret a single thing. Because I love him. And loving Basil is impossible not to do.
He doesnt wake me in the mornings anymore, lets me sleep injust curls up beside me and waits until I open my eyes. Sometimes he looks at me with gentle reproach, as if to say, How much longer, Head Chef? I miss you
If this is what was missing in my life, Im glad I stumbled into itone fluffy, mischievous blessing at a time.
